


The Musings of an Alcoholic Revolutionary

by quitesnotty



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcoholism, Insomnia, M/M, The Cause, Unrequited Love, idrk what else to put
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 10:16:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quitesnotty/pseuds/quitesnotty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being an alcoholic was not a hard thing to do when the country was in such a mess, you were in your last year of university and hopelessly in love with a man who you were sure didn’t have the capacity to love anything but the Cause. This hurt you so much that sometimes it was difficult to drag enough air into your lungs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Musings of an Alcoholic Revolutionary

**Author's Note:**

> So this is basically Grantaire crying about how Enjolras loves the Cause and not him.

Being an alcoholic was not a hard thing to do when the country was in such a mess, you were in your last year of university and hopelessly in love with a man who you were sure didn’t have the capacity to love anything but the Cause. This hurt you so much that sometimes it was difficult to drag enough air into your lungs.

Sitting across from him at the bar; watching the passion stir in his eyes and stir in his heart, a heat that radiated from his every pore, lighting the eyes of the surrounding students gathered around to hear him talk of freedom from the fat cats that held this delightful country in their disgusting hands. He inspired rage into their souls and revolution into their heads.

And you support the Cause with every fiber of your being because you love this man with every single fiber of your being. You love the Cause because he loves the Cause and you absolutely hate the Cause because he loves the Cause. When his eyes ignite the flame of rebellion inside your comrades, they douse the fire of hope inside your heart.

You laugh at your friends for their falling into the abyss that is love, yet on the inside you cry, you weep with envy at these people whose love is possible, whose love is accepted. Every day you offer your love to this man and every day he takes it, but he takes it for the Cause and not himself, doling out your passion and affection as if it were something that wasn’t only meant for him.

And every night as you lay awake you wonder; you wonder, if there wasn’t a Cause if he would love you then. You wonder what it would be like for him to pour all his passion into you, for him to love like he loves the Cause and you wonder if it would be possible to love someone that much. Well, you knew. You loved him so much that you would do anything at all for him, that you would die for the Cause if he asked you to. 

And yet the one thing you couldn’t do is the thing he asks of you, to stop drinking and moping and criticizing the world. If only he knew that only he has the power to make you stop. But even then you have no doubt that he wouldn’t love you back, that he would sacrifice your devotion to lay all of his on the Cause. 

You think perhaps maybe he was an angel, sent from heaven to lead the revolution and smite those who oppose it. To lead the people into uprising in a way no glorious sunbeam or mystical rainbow ever could, with a fiery justice and raging patriotism bursting from the seams of his form and rendering him unable to do anything with his life but let the Cause be the whole point of his being. 

Every night you lie in bed, insomnia and alcohol coursing through your veins, opposing forces battling for the right to keep you awake or send you to sleep. You mock the dreamers but you long to dream; you mock those who fear the night yet you pray to stave off the dark. It’s like a gash on the cheek and a spear in the heart when you think, when you know, that to him you are simply another pawn in this battle to be won. Your little life doesn’t count at all.


End file.
